The Stigma's Sorting
by FredNeverDied
Summary: Teddy Lupin may have grown up with the most dysfunctionally supportive family ever, but he's anything but ready for his own Sorting, despite their stories and reassurances. There's a lot weighing on this 11-year-old celebrity when the Hat goes on his head, and, being raised by Harry Potter, nothing can ever be easy. Choices will be made and sparks will fly at the stigma's Sorting.
1. Chapter 1

Story about Teddy. Been sitting on this for a while. Please read it, tell me what you think. :)

* * *

The Stigma's Sorting

"Keys, Nicole!" cried the Charms teacher.

Hogwarts School watched with baited breath as the little blonde girl tip-toed up to the stool and the Sorting Hat was lowered onto her head. There was a moment of impatient silence before it shouted,

"_Hufflepuff!_"

Hufflepuff table stood up cheering as a red-faced Nicole scampered off the stool and over to join her new housemates.

"Lannigan, Jason!" called Professor Flitwick, and a boy with short, dark hair proceeded solemnly up to the stool.

'Finally in the L's…it's my turn soon,' thought a small boy who had been standing near Jason. The child had loppy, brown hair; clear, brown eyes; and narrow shoulders. Compared to the other children around him, who were a mass of nervous, trembling wrecks; the boy seemed unusually collected. Indeed, the only outward sign of his nerves was that, as the Hat approached his name, the tips of his brown hair grew steadily pinker. This, however, was no need for alarm, for the boy was a Metamorphmagus and more specifically, the boy was Teddy Lupin.

Teddy, for one, had been disappointed to see that it wasn't Professor McGonagall calling out the names in the Sorting Hat Ceremony. She featured in all of his "aunts' and uncles'" Sorting Stories as their list-reader and he'd expected her to be in his as well. Of course, _now_ she was the Headmistress of Hogwarts, having passed the Deputy duties off to Professor Flitwick and Teddy couldn't mind too terribly. After all, at the end of the day, she _was_ just his Aunt Minnie, an ever-present figure throughout his childhood, and sat with him every Sunday for the Weasley family get-together lunch.

"_Ravenclaw!_" The hat finally shouted after deciding hard on Jason. Teddy watched the boy go to his new house, thinking that Ravenclaw wouldn't be so bad. Hermione had told him that he'd do well there. According to her, he was very insightful. But when Harry had heard this, he just shrugged, ruffled Teddy's hair the way they both liked it, and said that only meant the boy knew too much for his age.

"Yeah," Ron had agreed, "'Cause the poor thing was raised by a bunch of idiot teenagers who hadn't a clue about censoring themselves…Sorry about that again, Beta." Teddy could only smile when they joked about things like that. Because he knew it was true.

He was everybody's first child—the one where they learned what worked with parenting and what obviously _didn't_. 'Beta-Baby,' 'The Guinea Pig Child,' and 'Poor-Teddy-He-Knows-Too-Much-Because-We-Don't-Know-How-To-Do-This-And-We're-Very-Sorry'were just a few nicknames of his. Was it any real surprise he preferred 'mate' or just his name?

"Leshnock, Katherine!"

_Lupin, Lupin, Lupin_…any second now, it was going to be him when he least expected it.

He nervously glanced at the Slytherin table, not noticing that his hair tips went bright fuchsia when he did so. Not there. Anywhere but there. He knew he wasn't conniving and he always got caught when he lied—he'd _never_ be a Slytherin. It was so obvious. But what _if…?_

He gulped.

"Just remember what Harry said,' he thought, trying to calm himself. 'Remember Harry…'

"_Harry?"_

_ The older wizard turned around, hastily stuffing papers into his desk when he saw that it was Teddy standing in the doorway._

_ "What is it, mate?"_

_ Teddy swallowed nervously and Harry's expression changed from curiosity to a knowing smile. He Summoned a chair to cross the room and rest next to him, which he then indicated with his wand._

_ "Sit," he ordered. Teddy took the familiar seat next to his godfather and Harry leaned forward in his chair so that they were on the same eye level._

_ "What was that?" Teddy stalled, pointing at the half-open drawer that had just been crammed with parchments._

_ "The usual business," Harry replied, "Top secret, very hush-hush, _très secrète_, I'm contractually bound to kill you if you learn anything about it—you know."_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "Definitely."_

_ Teddy chuckled and glanced down at his hands. A moment passed._

_ "Teddy?"_

_ He looked up to see Harry still smiling at him_

_ "You didn't come in here to talk about an old Auror's paperwork, did you?" _

_Teddy shook his head._

"_Can I hazard a guess at your purpose then?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Can I guess that it has to do with school starting next week?"_

_A quieter: "Uh-huh."_

_Harry put a hand on his knee._

"_I've already promised to loan you the map," he said gently. "And you get the Cloak until James is old enough to handle it…" _

_Teddy smiled weakly but it didn't seem to convince Harry, who patiently tried again._

"_You're very smart and already know _loads_ of magic."_

"…_In theory."_

"_Well of course, but that's more than a lot of kids so you _do_ have a nice head-start…You know Headmaster McGonagall and Neville helped _raise_ you…so the main thing you're worried about is…?" He raised his eyebrows and waited for Teddy to fill in the blank._

"_Um…the Sorting?"_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_The Sorting."_

_Harry smiled._

"_I was waiting for this," he said, patting Teddy's knee. "Listen kiddo, your mother was a Hufflepuff and she…pardon my French, could kick arse. (Teddy giggled.) And Remus was and is one of the most inspiring people I have ever had the honor to meet—there's your Gryffindor. Hermione has already said you would make an excellent Ravenclaw and she's quite right—you're very clever and possess all the creative thinking skills of a true Eagle."_

"_So what about—?"_

"_Teddy, there isn't a Slytherin bone in your body." Harry said dismissively._

_Teddy gulped. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. Because he needed to know what would happen to him if he _really did_ get into—_

"_But if you do," said Harry, with that same knowing smile on his face. "Then you'll make _one heck_ of a Slytherin."_

"Lupin, Edward!" called Flitwick.

Teddy jumped when he heard his real name and was suddenly aware of _just how many_ people were in the room and _just how many_ were staring _right at him_. He gulped and took a step forward. His eyes flicked up to the High Table. Aunt Minnie nodded to him discreetly, never one to openly show favoritism; while Hagrid and Neville were blatantly shooting him thumbs-ups and grins.

"_You'll be great_," Neville mouthed.

Teddy took a deep breath and strode up to the stool.

"Here we are now," Flitwick said quietly as he stretched up on his toes to lift the Hat over Teddy's head. The boy's eyes drifted over the Hall once more—Gryffindor table on the left, eagerly trying to see the child raised by their very own Harry Potter, not to mention son of their tragic hero, Remus Lupin; then Hufflepuff, excited faces hoping they would have him in their House, his mother a Badger herself; Ravenclaw, eyebrows raised, curiously sizing him up but withholding judgment till they'd seen what he could do; and Slytherin, analyzing, appraising, immediately deciding, and definitely (or, at least, hopefully) _not for Teddy_—and then the Hat dropped over his head, closing out everything else but for a small voice.

* * *

...

**_A/N:_** I always thought Teddy was fascinating, just because of all the dynamics in his family life and heritage and the scrutiny he'd be under from the press. I like to think of him as the sweet, well-mannered guy (with a slight rebel streak since he becomes a totally badass Auror with his power-couple-other-half, Vic) but he's still got a lot of the same insecurities as his father because he can feel the wolf inside his head every now and then and it makes him kind of temperamental. So...yay headcanons! What are yours?

Written while listening to _The Hobbit, How to Train Your Dragon,_ and _Newsies_ albums. Anybody got thoughts in this? Criticisms? Compliments? Cookies? (I'll take 'em.)


	2. Chapter 2

The Stigma's Sorting

Teddy waited with baited breath before a small voice growled in his mind,

"Well, well. Quite the little puzzle, aren't you?"

It didn't matter that he'd been expecting the voice, Teddy still jumped. The Hat chuckled.

"No need to fear Master Lupin," he growled. "'You're in good hands, though I have none'—a good line that one, from the song at your godfather's Sorting. A Gryffindor through and through, that boy, ignoring the confusing part about _foreign influences_…"

Teddy grinned despite himself. He knew all about that history. It was a rite of passage for eleven year olds in the Potter-Weasley clan and he was still enjoying gloating rights over his younger cousins at being the only one with full knowledge of the War's details.

"Smirk all you want," said the Hat, snapping him back into the present, "Mr. Potter may have been a jigsaw, but at heart he fully belonged with Lions—unlike your father of course."

"My father _was_ a Gryffindor," Teddy protested, before he could stop himself.

"Well of course," replied the Hat, as though he didn't care one way or the other. "But not as obviously as others. I _wanted_ to put him in Ravenclaw, I really did, but he insisted on Gryffindor. Something about a few boys he'd met on the train…but it's no matter. Your choices belong to you, and no one but you; I only assess them."

Teddy gripped the stool and prepared for the Hat's examination.

"…I see you're actually quite _like_ your father—clever, curious, loyal, brave, and chivalrous; naturally sharing a few of those traits with your mother…though it seems you've also inherited her complete lack of patience. You enjoy hard work like her, I'll note that, and also—_interesting_…."

"_What?_" Teddy thought, barely managing to avoid saying so out loud.

"It seems that you've also got quite the _drive_," said the Hat, sounding far too satisfied with the prospect. "An _ambitious_ streak, if you will. Plan to be the Auror Department Head like your godfather one day"

"Well, yes," Teddy admitted, quite panicked now. "It's a good goal, but that doesn't mean…it doesn't make me…please say it doesn't mean that I should be a—a—"

"A _Slytherin_?" the Hat said, mulling the word over as if he rather enjoyed the idea. "Those smarts of yours could be used a number of ways you know. It could be encouraged into the makings of _quite_ the Snake."

"Not Slytherin," Teddy thought desperately. "Anything but Slytherin."

The Hat sighed.

"Oh al_right_," it said. "Interesting though that would be, your other House merits do outweigh Slytherin's. You'll do well in—_GRYFFINDOR!_"

Immediately, the hall was blasted with cheers from the Gryffindor table, as a hundred eager voices called him over and two hundred hands clapped and beckoned. Teddy, as though in a dream, got up from the stool and handed the Hat back to Flitwick, the garment feeling so light in his hands that he hardly noticed it. Then again, _every_thing was feeling rather light and weightless right now; so much so that, had he wanted, Teddy would have been soaring through the rafters by now—but he felt that would've seemed like showing off.

Teddy settled for just gently floating as he made his way to his new Housemates (though, curiously, no one seemed to notice) and took a seat beside another first year. His arms were pumped up and down by various well-wishers and many patted him on the back, but within a few moments, the table had calmed down and "Montague, Allison," was in the limelight, ready to be Sorted.

Teddy, for one, slowly came out his shock and euphoria through the rest of the Ceremony, and by the time "Talton, Gene!" had been Sorted to Slytherin, he was feeling a bit more levelheaded. There were still three children left to go when he noticed two boys from a little further down the table detach themselves and slink up the row towards him. From the curious looks of the students further back and a gaping hole that was twenty-some spots down, Teddy guessed that they'd been hop-scotching their way towards the front for a while now. He watched as they scurried down three seats, their heads level with the seated students so as to not draw unnecessary attention, before they rejoined the table, sitting backwards on the benches in order to make room.

Just then, one of the boys caught sight of Teddy watching them, smacked his friend in the chest, and pointed Teddy out. The other boy's eyebrows shot up with glee and, in perfect synchronization, the two waved at him exuberantly. Teddy, bemused, waved back slowly, only to elicit more excitement and the two running forwards another three seats.

"Varley, Evelyn!"

They scurried two seats closer.

"_HUFFLEPUFF_!"

"Whitworth, Maria!"

They were four seats away.

"_HUFFLEPUFF_!"

"York, Darius!"

Just two seats now.

"_RAVENCLAW_!"

"_And that's the Sorting!_" Teddy tore his eyes away from the advancing boys to fix them on McGonagall, who had come forward with a small smile on her face. "I bid you all a warm welcome to Hogwarts School," she continued, "And it is my sincerest hope that this will be a joyful _and productive _year for everyone! We have lots to learn and much to enjoy. And now, without further ado—_the feast_."

And with those words; she drew her wand, briskly flicked it, and the food appeared.

Immediately, Teddy's very eyes could've popped from their sockets. Ron had done his best to describe the phenomenon of the Hogwarts opening feast to him, but _this_…this was unbelievable.

There were enormous bowls of mashed potatoes, drizzled and puddled with melted butter; mounds of green beans, expertly blackened and crispy on the ends; stewed pears and cranberries with brown sugar baked on top; baskets overflowing with golden, fluffy rolls; bright bell peppers and fish fried together, caked with seasoning, swimming in juices; carrots baked in cinnamon; corn, grilled and glowing; cucumbers, thinly sliced and floating in iced vinegar water; and—the only thing that actually lived up to Ron's description—platters and platters of sizzling, dripping chicken, cooked in every variation imaginable.

The moment of awed appreciation passed and within seconds, Teddy had a loaded plate and a full mouth. Indeed, he'd already finished two liberally-buttered rolls and started in on a drumstick before he actually noticed that the boys from earlier had materialized at his sides.

"Sure can put his food away, cant' he?" said one to the other, staring fixedly at Teddy.

"Amazing," agreed the second, never looking up at his friend. "Suppose he got it from…_y'know—?_" He blushed slightly with obvious elation at the thought of this "Y'Know."

"Naw naw," said the first boy, "He'd have gotten it from the other, the Auror, his best friend…_y'know_…"

"Yeah maybe," said the other. "'Course, it could be hereditary. That'd be better."

"Yeah," agreed the first boy sagely, "Much better."

"So which is it?" said the second boy, addressing Teddy for the first time. "Who'd you get it from?"

Teddy blinked at them both, feeling slightly foolish and slightly annoyed. He swallowed down an (arguably too large) bite of chicken.

"…I-I'm sorry," he managed, choking slightly. "What exactly…I—_who_ are you?"

"Sincerest apologies!" said the first boy, bowing to him from the waist. "I'm Nat, sixth year flunky extraordinaire, but you'll probably hear the teachers yelling at a certain Nathaniel Widin in the hallways."

"Can't imagine why they would though," said the second, with a mock-pensive expression on his face.

"My counterpart," introduced Nat, beckoning. "Is Sterling Purvis, a master tap-dancer and cake-frosting artist protégée."

Sterling nodded appreciatively.

"I wouldn't say _protégée_, my dear Nathaniel," he said modestly. "But of course I won't hide that I _was_ world champion at the Nimis Nimium Frosting Competition last year." He finished by examining his fingernails and sniffing with a dignified air.

Teddy chuckled for them, mostly because he didn't know how else to respond, and waited for the boys to explain themselves further. Nat and Sterling took his laughter as encouragement and plunged on.

"We grew up down the street from each other," said Sterling. "Our mothers were best mates, and their fathers were best mates and then their—"

"Basically, we're fourth generation super-pals," Nat interrupted. "And we've been _im_patiently expecting your arrival to Hogwarts for _years_ now because we happen to suffer from a rare and acute hero worship of everyone ever related to you ever."

"_So_," said Sterling, as Teddy sat, reeling from Nat's rapid-fire speech. "We wanted to bid you the warmest of welcomes _aaaand_ uncover the truth to your deep, dark secret."

"Deep, dark secret?" Teddy repeated.

"Who'd you get the healthy appetite from?" Nat prompted, smiling, as he nudged Teddy's loaded plate.

"Um…"

"Was it—_y'know_?" said Sterling, his voice thick with awe and his eyes shining. "_Harry Potter?_"

"Or _Ron Weasley?_"

"Or one of your…_parents_ even?"

Teddy noted with appreciation that Sterling's voice had gone softer and more respectful at the mention of his parents. It wasn't that the mention of the subject was sensitive to him—most of the time he forgot that his parents were dead and figured he'd just always belonged to the Weasleys, Harry, and his grandmother. It was a guilty habit of his, and one he meant to break; but he'd never known Remus and Tonks Lupin and all the stories and photographs in the world couldn't change that.

However, whenever people—reporters mostly—got in his face and started questioning him about his mother and father—his thoughts on their actions and motives, whether or not he was proud of them or hurt by their decisions to leave their child and fight, did he think he would do the same, were he in their position, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera—and it always seriously _pissed_ him off.

For Teddy Lupin was in fact _fiercely_ proud of what his parents had done and whenever they were dragged through the mud or thrown in his face like some pawn in the game of newspaper intrigue, he tended to be snippy and upset about it for days afterwards.

On the other hand, he could already tell that these two boys seemed to truly respect what both generations' Order of the Phoenix members had stood for (and, despite popular belief, it was _not_ to generate headlines and scandals) and something inside Teddy relished this uncommon recognition, especially from a peer. He grinned at them with equal parts admiration and thanks.

"I dunno," he said, shrugging. "Probably Grandmum Weasley—she's the one who shoved so much food in me that I was a chubby little blimp till I got into Quidditch."

Nat and Sterling let out identical shuddering gasps at the mention of Grandmum Weasley.

"The Great Mother," Nathaniel said in a hushed tone. "_The_ Great Mother."

"The-One-Who-Raised-Them-All." Sterling said in the same tremulous voice, looking though he might wet himself. "_Oh dear Merlin…_"

"What's it like?" Nathaniel asked. "What are they all like—_really_?"

"What do you mean?" Teddy asked, cocking his head to the side. He was well-aware of his adopted/family's famous background but, usually, they were just a normal family. Just one, loud, fussy, sometimes sticky, always funny, hugs-kisses-wrestles-tears, loving family.

"Oh you know what they mean," said a voice from across the table. "What's it like to be with them?" Teddy looked up along with Nat and Sterling to see a fellow first year girl addressing him. Now paying attention for the first time, Teddy was surprised to see that all the other students around them were engaged in his conversation too. Indeed, every Gryffindor within listening-distance was staring _right at him_ again with that same strange expression of fan-girl-fascination on their faces as Nat and Sterling.

"What's it like to hang around with them?" continued the girl opposite Teddy eagerly. "On any given, random, normal day. What are they like?"

Teddy glanced around again at his audience and, with a slight rush of vanity, squared his shoulders, took another bite of chicken, and grinned.

"Well," he began, smiling, "There was this _one_ time…"


	3. Chapter 3

Anybody else see _The Fault in Our Stars_ yet? Good luck to you if you do. I'm too affected, I'm going to have to write a fic to be at peace with the whole damn story. _Stupid John Green_...Okay that's not true, I adore him, but he is still cruel.

Here, have a chapter. There should be one more after this.

* * *

The Stigma's Sorting

"…And then George bribed me with Chocolate Frog cards to put me on top of the refrigerator," Teddy said, smiling, as his audience howled with laughter at the story. "And then gave me a work broom as a weapon. That way, once he had all his brothers chasing him through the kitchen, it was my job to bring the broom down on their heads—_whap! whap!_—as they ran past beneath me."

"Just how old were you?" asked Milo, one of Teddy's classmates, as he giggled.

"Five, six?" said Teddy, shrugging. "I would do anything for a collectible card back then. 'Course, it all backfired when their war-instincts kicked in and they pulled their wands on me. Ron figured it out quick enough and put up a Shield in time but Bill would have easily Stunned me into, if not _through_, a wall. Grandmum Weasley was _furious_." He grinned at them all again, before redirecting his attention to his plate and shoveling pie in his mouth. They'd kept him so busy telling stories, he'd hardly gotten to eat dinner—they weren't going take away his dessert too.

Not that he minded terribly, Teddy reflected, glancing back up at them. It was great fun to tell stories about his family as people, not as celebrities, (an angle that the reporters and bystanders never seemed to want from him.) Here, the Gryffindors crowding around him—and the nearby Hufflepuffs who he was pretty sure were eavesdropping—were the most eager assembly he'd ever come across, pestering and begging him for one more story, just one more, oh come on, one more, _please!_

Teddy shoveled another enormous bite of pie into his mouth at the thought, a ready excuse to not tell another tale on the spot. He could see that Sterling was eyeballing him, his mouth poised to implore another narrative the moment Teddy came up to breathe. Though flattered, Teddy scanned the others for support, someone, _any_one, to diffuse the limelight for a moment; but every eager eye was focused directly on him. Teddy swallowed the pie and sighed when Lucy, another of his classmates, beat Sterling to the punch with,

"What about your younger cousins? What are they like?"

"Yeah! Harry's real kids, what about them?"

"Do you all get along? It must be so competitive!"

"Tell us a story, just one!"

"Yeah!"

"_Yeah!_"

Teddy gulped. If he kept this up, he'd become such a popular _stigma_ that he'd _never_ make any real friends. Harry had warned him about it of course, but Teddy had thought it would only apply to attention like what he got from the press. He'd been swept away in the initial rush of affection and, regardless of whether or not his new friends wanted to know the "real him," too much of even this good thing was proving to be not so great…

"Just another about your cousins, that's it, really—!"

They quieted as Teddy held up a hand.

"There's a whole year ahead," he promised. "I'll tell stories—just later."

"Oh come on!"

"Please!"

But one by one, (Nathaniel and Sterling, naturally, the last) they laid off, returning to their own desserts and sneaking not-so-discreet glances of insatiated curiosity at him whenever they thought he wasn't looking. But eventually, the conversation turned to more mundane matters than pranks played on pitiable war heroes with jumpy nerves.

All the same, Teddy felt a bit of anxiety gnawing at the back of his brain.

_"I'm not saying clam up now," Harry had said. He was lying on the couch in the Burrow's living room with his arms comfortably crossed over his chest. "But just expect to stick out once you get there. They'll know who you are and they'll get in your face about it for the first few weeks. But if you keep your head down and be polite, it'll all go smoothly. I promise."_

_ It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and they'd already been treated to another sumptuous meal of Grandmum Weasley's. The uncles were outside with some of the other cousins, teaching the younger ones the basics of Quidditch. Teddy, bored by the elementary lesson, was inside with Harry, flopped over, upside down, in a chair across from his godfather._

_ "Do you think some of them won't like me?" he asked, gently kicking his feet against the back of the chair and noting that the feel of blood filling up his head was starting to hurt._

_ "That's life, kiddo," Harry replied. "Not everybody's out to hug one another."_

_ "Naw, I know that," said Teddy, righting himself and feeling the room spin. "But are they going to hate me for what you did? What Mum and Dad did?" _

_ Harry looked at him seriously._

_ "Some of them will," he said, his voice quiet. "But many more will appreciate it. The trick will be to find people who don't have a predisposition against or even _for_ you. You probably don't want to be the stigma."_

_ "Stigma?"_

_ "It means that you'd be so famous no one would know what to do with you," said a voice._

_ Teddy and Harry both looked up to see Hermione coming round the corner from the kitchen with a mug of tea in her hands. _

_ "Budge up," she ordered Harry, still lying at full length on the sofa. He mock-glared at her and didn't move, prompting the witch to shrug and primly seat herself on his stomach. He grunted but otherwise carried on like it was a completely normal convention to sit on one's friends. Then again, in this home, it often was. _

_ "They'll bow and scrape and be so enamored they won't treat you like a real person," Hermione continued in her demure voice. "Or, they'll be so bloody prejudiced that they'll try tripping you in the hallways—do watch out, alright?—and calling you names behind your back, something that, as we all know, can't hurt or change a thing about you." She took a small sip of tea. "Oh, _Ronald! _You made it too hot again!"_

_ "Are those my only two options?" Teddy asked nervously._

_ "'Course not, love," came another voice, its owner swinging around the bend to collapse on Harry's chest, eliciting a much louder grunt of discomfort. "Don't go about acting like you own the world and try to hang around with the Muggleborns since they won't know a thing about you coming in. Put on any airs and that's all people will see; act like a normal person and everyone else will catch on. I wouldn't worry about it."_

_ Teddy grinned._

_ "Thanks Ginny."_

_ "Oh sure, thank Ginny," called a deep tone from the kitchen. "Bloody hypocrite was such a terrified wreck going into her first year that she started crying a week beforehand and didn't dry up till a fortnight into the semester."_

_ "Not helping mate," Harry muttered from somewhere beneath his wife and friend._

_ Ron entered the room, grinning at the sight of his buried best mate._

_ "You're going to be great, Teddy," Ron promised, gently sitting on Harry' legs just to keep up the theme. A final groan accompanied the action. "Everyone is nervous going in, everyone is satisfied coming out. You'll make loads of friends there, no matter what; and when you come back home for hols, you'll have this madhouse to welcome you. Either way, you won't be lonely. We can guarantee that much."_

_ Teddy surveyed the four in front of him, each as much father and mother and friend to him as the next, and smiled despite the anxiety._

_ "Thanks you guys," he muttered._

_ "No problem pal," came Harry's strained voice. "Now do us a favor and_ get them off._"_

"…My mother used to make the best muffins," a girl was saying as Teddy surfaced from his memories and refocused on the group at hand. "It was the butter, she always doubled the amount of butter that the recipe called for."

"Hm," muttered Sterling, gracing the conversation. It seemed like they had become _very_ bored, _very_ quickly, and no one was enjoying the muffin story, including its teller.

"My grandma made biscuits," piped up another boy, trying to add at least something to the topic. Another general hum arose by way of engaging. One by one, eyes were returning to Teddy in hope that the conversation might soon be rescued.

The young Metamorphmagus sank lower in his seat.

"Then there was this pie," continued the first girl, still sounding very bored. "She made a great pie…"

"_Oy, you!_"

The table, including Teddy, brightened up considerably at the sound of this imposing threat. At least _some_thing was about to get interesting.

And then, Teddy realized it had been directed right at him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Alright, so last one. I enjoyed writing this 'cause I got to delve into Teddy and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Was there anything I handled poorly, was unclear about, or governed by cliches? Tell me, I want to know._

_Love and butterbeer,  
-Freddie_

* * *

_The Stigma's Sorting_

Teddy sized up the pair of boys menacingly strutting down the aisle towards him. Unsurprisingly, he recognized the boy in front as one of the students who'd been Sorted into Slytherin. …What was his name again?

"I know you," said the boy smoothly, as he came upon Teddy, drawing closer than necessary so that Teddy had to crane his neck to look up at him. "Harry Potter got you after the War, didn't he?"

The boy had thick, wavy brown hair, squinting blue eyes, and distractingly long eyelashes. His robes were new, again unsurprisingly, and he wore a weighty, silver ring on his middle finger. Everything about the look screamed pureblood. Teddy scooted backwards in his seat to give his eye line more room and swallowed. Harry had warned him that this might happen—he'd just expected it to take a _little_ longer than an hour.

"Yeah, Harry got me," said Teddy slowly, still trying to place a name with the face. "Legally at least. In practice it's a bit more muddled."

"He spends half his time with…his…grandmother…" said a classmate, Shirley, trailing off when she received a condescending smirk from the second boy. This one was much taller; had short, black hair, buzzed close to his head; a darkly tanned complexion; and abnormally large hands.

"I'm Gene Talton," said the first boy with the wavy locks. "Slytherin. This is Garret Cameron from Ravenclaw."

"Third year," clarified Garret. "So you know."

"Sterling and Nathaniel," said Nat, glaring at the boys from across the table and gesturing to his best friend. "_Sixth_ years…so you know."

Garret looked the two over as though seeing them for the first time and some of the hostility in his expression lessened. Gene, on the other hand, shrugged Nathaniel's comment off.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, not sounding very pleased at all. "So Teddy—that's what you go by, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Teddy, I was wondering—and this question has bugged me for years, so I need to know—what's it _like_ to be around this many people?"

"Ex-excuse me?" said Teddy, confused. He didn't know where this was going, he didn't like it, and he was aware that he was giving Gene the responses he wanted, playing right into his hands. None of which was brightening his mood.

Gene smiled. (Really not brightening Teddy's mood.)

"What's it like to be around this many people?" Gene said again. "You know…with the werewolf senses and all."

_Ah_.

So _that's_ where it was going.

"It must be overpowering, yeah?" Gene continued. "Or even painful? All the sensitive wolf senses of smell and the wolf senses of hearing must be miserable in all this." His smile brightened as though something had just occurred to him and Teddy's gut churned more at the sight. "And then again, I guess the _tasting_ senses would be hyperactive too. Got any weird, wolf-like tastes? I've heard they like meat raw and such—do you have the desire for that kind of food?" If he hadn't been clear enough in his implications, Gene glanced around at Teddy's housemates with a pitying expression.

Immediately, there was a fluttering gasp from Teddy's left and he glanced over to see that Milo, as well as all the other students in his year, were regarding Teddy with expressions in various degrees of…was that really _fear?_ Teddy's heart sank. So much for trying to play the stigma back down. He'd let it go too far when he arrived, become too grand, too impressive, too untouchable, and they were only too willing to turn on a celebrity instead of a friend. Teddy cursed himself—that was all he had to blame after all.

Now they would be terrified of the kid who may have had an interesting childhood but at the cost of being a monster. He glanced over at the sixth years and was even more disappointed to see that Nat and Sterling had backed off a little, if not with fear then definitely to see how Teddy would handle this himself.

The young Metamorphmagus squared his shoulders and redirected his attention to Gene, whose smirk displayed that he'd cheerfully picked up on this betrayal as well. Teddy wouldn't deny it; to do so would be to deny his own father and that was never an option. In any case, it was true. The ever-present smells of people and filth and food and—all were things he struggled to repress on a daily basis. And that was nothing compared to the constant conversations and rustles and stamps and calls he heard…

He looked up as Gene leaned forwards to him.

"Because I'm right, aren't I?" said Gene in a low voice so only Teddy could hear him. "Your father being a half-breed that makes you a little mini-basket-case monster, doesn't it?"

That did it.

If he'd had any reservations before, they melted away with the word "half-breed" and incinerated on the word "monster." Whatever he was, it wasn't something to be ashamed of. Everyone who'd ever loved him growing up had never failed to make that clear.

He _was_ proud of his parents.

He _was_ his father's son.

And…he was also his_ mother's_…

Ignoring whatever the others might think of this risky move, Teddy looked Gene steadily in the eyes, and grinned devilishly. This obviously wasn't the reaction Gene had been expecting for he backed up and crooked his eyebrow. But Teddy merely sat up straighter and, with the calmest of smiles on his face, bared his teeth and Metamorphed.

His nails grew longer, sharper, and darker; his shoulders filled out; teeth filed into points; nose and mouth protruded into a snout; black irises dominated his eyes; and thick, brown hair sprouted along his arms and hands. He was still humanoid—but as werewolf-like as a human could possibly be.

There were loud gasps, one hushed shriek, and Nat choked out an obscenity or two in surprise; but it was worth it to see Gene's smirk change to complete horror.

"Yeah…_no_," said Teddy calmly, examining his nails with feigned curiosity. "My father being a werewolf does not, as you said, make me prefer raw meat, but it _does_ give me a couple extra abilities. Namely that I can run faster than everyone my age I've ever met and I do have the rare Hyper-Acute Senses Disorder—which is helpful when I want to know that _your_ heartbeat has sped up considerably in the past two seconds, and that you suddenly smell like epinephrine and cortosol—trust me, they're called that, I've looked it up. Basically, you smell like _fear_, if you're not too brushed up on your biology."

He looked up from his nails and noted with supreme satisfaction that Gene's backup, Garrett, had bolted; and was just rounding the Hufflepuff table on his way back to his own House. Teddy smiled again and continued.

"So to answer your question yes; yes it _is_ overpowering at times to be what I am, but at others…quite enjoyable."

Gene, whose face had steadily and swiftly drained of color during Teddy's monologue, raised a shaking finger.

"H-how are you…?"

"Doing this?" Teddy asked. He ran his tongue over a sharpened tooth, enjoying the effect it had on Gene. "Quite simple actually. Whenever people go into my family's conditions, they never give my mother enough credit. She was a Metamorphmagus." At Gene's still-terrified, clueless expression, Teddy clarified. "It means she could change her appearance at will. Runs in the blood. …Anything else you wanted to know?"

"You're-you're…" he said, lifting an accusing finger again.

"Fascinating!"

"_Brilliant!_"

"…Insane!" Gene finished, though Teddy hardly heard him for his surprise over the interjections from behind. "You're all _insane_. They shouldn't have let you in, you're a complete _monster!_"

"How so?" said Nat, for it was he who had put in the first word. "He's proved he's harmless. Just a kid who can do things that you can't."

"Kickass superpowers that you can't, more like," said Sterling, leaning across the table to jovially punch Teddy in the shoulder. "I need to get me some Metamorphmagus, can't tell you how much that would help on dates. 'Could just grow…"

"Firsties, mate, they're firsties," Nathaniel interrupted.

"Do none of you get it?" Gene said, cutting across the sixth years as he wildly looked about at the other eleven-year-olds. "Do you not see that he could _kill you!?_ Children shouldn't be able to do that—it makes him an _abomination_!" And with those words, he spun on his heel and struck off for the Slytherin table again, leaving Teddy to drown in the wake of his words.

Teddy slow-burned around to see his classmates. Nathaniel and Sterling, two sixteen year olds, were one thing to not be afraid. Fellow elevensies were another.

Wide eyes met him, furtive glances being exchanged amongst the group.

So that was it then. They were afraid. He'd let his temper get the best of him, over-reacted, and scared them all further with the Metamorph trick. There went any chance of friendship for the next _seven years_…

"He _is_ just like us," said a small voice. The entire table diverted their eyes to a boy at the very end of the table. He'd been the final student to get Sorted—York, Ripkin York, that was the last name Teddy'd heard—and so there was hardly any room for him on the edge of the bench. He had a hunched posture, thin lips, and tossed, dark hair that nearly obscured his eyes.

Ripkin hunched further when he found himself the center of attention but he managed to say:

"Whatever his parents were, he's still normal, right? It only matters that you're a wizard. …At least, that's what the woman who explained to us said—I mean, not that I—or my family is—though I guess I _am_ a—I suppose I wouldn't know much really since I…" But this proved to be too much for Ripkin and he turned his enflamed face away.

With Hermione's words ringing in his ears and going off his own hunch, Teddy pulled away from the table, and plopped down at Ripkin's side, retracting the hair on his arms and reverting his facial structure to normal as he sat, perching half a leg on the miniscule space of bench left at the table. The two lines of eyes followed him all the way down.

"You're a Muggleborn, aren't you?" He asked the other boy bluntly.

Ripkin nodded, glum. "…She said it didn't matter, just so long as I was a wizard…" he muttered.

"It doesn't," Teddy said shrugging. "Actually…'_shouldn't'_ might be a better word. Like it '_shouldn't'_ matter that my father was bitten by a wolf when he was eight years old and effectively kicked out of society. Then again, it also shouldn't matter that godfather was "The Chosen One"…or whatever it was."

"What does that _mean_?" Ripkin asked, looking up, his eyes eager. "I heard people talking about him on the train this morning, but nobody would give me a straight answer about how all that started …?"

"It's a _long_ story," Teddy said. "And it's also way sadder than people give it credit for." Out of the corner of his eye, Teddy saw Milo turn to Shirley and start talking again. A few others followed suit, diverting their attention from his private conversation with Ripkin. Nathaniel served himself another piece of pie, apparently to have something to do and Sterling's eyes were starting to droop with apparent exhaustion.

"_Mm_," said Ripkin, frowning. "I can't say I'd like to hear a sad story tonight."

"And I can't tell you how much I agree with you," Teddy replied. "What about you? You have a happy story then?"

Ripkin shrugged.

"I don't know," he said. "I've got nothing cool. I heard what you were saying before—stories about growing up with a family full of magic…"

"It's not as cool when you have it around 24/7," Teddy replied truthfully. "Everything's much more interesting with Muggles. They invent the strangest things to get along without magic—_vending machines…merry-go-rounds…escalators_…"

Ripkin's eyes lit up.

"My older sister got her leg stuck in an escalator once!"

"Aw gross, that had to hurt!"

Ripkin chuckled

"Yeah I know, there was _so_ much blood…!"

And so it was that Teddy Lupin, the famous son a werewolf and a Metamorphmagus on his mother's side, raised by The Chosen One Himself, a stigma of the highest degree; made friends with Ripkin York, a boy whose father, Teddy learned, lived in America and kept him for five, glorious weeks in the summer, a boy who had a raging obsession with anime (something Teddy would soon discover, via Mr. York, and also religiously adore,) and three older siblings, none of whom could do magic and were all out of their minds with jealousy.

Ripkin would become an ace and Teddy's tutor in Charms and Transfiguration and an avid fan of Quidditch, if he was terrified of heights; and Teddy would help him in Runes and Potions in return and agree to stay on the ground and play Exploding Snap when all his cousins insisted on flying practice.

As time went on, they would sneak down to the kitchens together at night and steal each other's girlfriends every now and then and go home with each other for holidays and, later in their career, make it a competition to kick Mrs. Norris on every possible occasion and blame it on underclassmen. And though they kept in touch with Nathaniel and Sterling, their mentors and older-brothers-in-practice after they graduated, nothing could ever separate or come close to the friendship of the Muggleborn and the Stigma.


End file.
